The Christmas Knight. Michele SinclairЧитать онлайн книгу.
the cleavage it hid but did nothing to disguise the willowy figure it covered. A single gold amulet rested in the graceful hollow of her throat.
A light breeze came across the clearing and caught her curls. She looked up so that her face could take full advantage of the refreshing treat and she paused. Her large dark eyes were looking directly at him, as if she had sensed his presence. Pale, her delicate oval face possessed high cheekbones, apricot-colored skin, and a generous mouth that neither smiled nor frowned. She looked like a misbegotten angel, the kind he tended to dream up naked whenever his physical need for companionship surfaced. To him, she embodied natural beauty, the kind few women—even beautiful ones—possessed and therefore made her all the more alluring.
Then she shifted her jaw.
The movement was slight, and from across the clearing, he had almost missed it. The simple twitch was not extraordinary except that it was identical to the one Sir Laon le Breton performed whenever he had been mentally chewing on something. Ranulf wasn’t staring at a village maiden; she was Laon’s eldest daughter, Bronwyn.
Ranulf grimaced and raked his hand across his head, recalling Laon’s description of his firstborn. The man had been blind. Yes, she was tall and her hair might be of a similar color, but resembled him? Laon had intimated his eldest daughter was plain, if not homely, saying outright that no man would ever desire her for a wife.
Ranulf glanced back across the clearing. She was singing again, her raspy voice still not on key, but haunting all the same. It had been three years since he had been with a woman and she was creating the most lustful thoughts his mind had conjured in all that time. Tonight was going to be uncomfortable, for Laon’s daughter was stirring within him the need that had been building every day of those years.
He needed to leave quickly before she saw him, before she looked upon the disfigured face of Deadeye de Gunnar.
But again he was stopped. This time by a man. Large, with a rugged face and thick, long blond hair styled in the way of many English nobles, he resembled what every lady of the court coveted. And the nearness of his body to Lady Bronwyn’s made it clear the two were very well acquainted, proving once again all beautiful things were tainted.
A cold frisson rippled on the surface of Ranulf’s skin and he turned around to get his horse and ride away. He had just hooked the crossbow to his saddle when a sharp, unpleasant cackle pierced his ears. Grimacing, Ranulf returned to the hedge and glanced once more at the couple on the other side. This time he could see Bronwyn’s face. While he could not make out what they were saying, her expression and posture had been that of an angry, cornered cat, knowing she was comparatively weak, but fighting back anyway. The exchange was not welcomed but loathed.
Ranulf took a deep breath and debated his options, but when he saw the man roughly snatch her back into control after she tried unsuccessfully to get away, Ranulf’s decision was made. Immediately, he returned for his bow and was prepping the bolt when he saw the man lunge for her mouth. She responded with violent twists in an effort to become free. Ranulf ignored his emotional response and aimed. The arrow flew, narrowly missing the man’s scalp, but he had felt it. The imposing figure immediately let go and cowered for several seconds, waiting for more arrows to follow. Ranulf prepped another, this time with flesh as his target, but eased his grip a second later when he saw the man move to leave.
Ranulf should have escaped as well, but he had remained motionless, stilled by Bronwyn’s reaction, which was not as he had expected. Tears had not fallen nor had she collapsed in fright. Instead, anger had consumed her stance and her jaw began to twitch back and forth. She was planning revenge and Ranulf longed to know just what she had in mind.
He had been so consumed with interest he hadn’t realized her gaze had left the thicket from where the man had disappeared and was now on Ranulf’s arrow. She gently touched the heavy tip and then looked up as if she knew he was still there. Then, gathering her skirts, she started to march toward where he stood. If he hadn’t moved when he did, his first encounter with Laon’s eldest daughter would have happened much, much sooner than he had planned.
The next time he saw Lady Bronwyn, he intended to be prepared…and under full control.
At the knock on the door, Bronwyn sucked in her breath and steadied herself before exhaling. She had known this moment was coming since her return and had delayed it for as long as possible. Coming in late and missing dinner begged for questions, but sequestering herself had only ensured a sisterly inquisition. One to which she still didn’t know the answers.
How does one reveal a father’s death, a baron’s threats, and a new lord’s arrival? All of these Bronwyn had been mulling and considering since her encounter with Luc Craven, but no matter how she looked at the situation, there could be only one response.
Bronwyn slid the drawbar up and opened the door. Lily suppressed a sniffle and darted inside. Edythe, with arms crossed, slowly sauntered in after her. Both had been crying. Hard. Somehow they had found out what had happened. Had Luc rode to Hunswick after they had parted? Had someone seen their encounter and raced back with the news?
Edythe moved toward the middle of the three chairs that formed an arch in front of the hearth. Though each of them had been given their own rooms above the Great Hall by the previous Lord Anscombe, they all gravitated toward Bronwyn’s before bed each night or when something happened. The rooms had once been the bedchambers and day rooms of the late Lord Anscombe, but he had declared them too loud and had moved into the Tower Keep as soon as it had been completed. After that the rooms had become Bronwyn’s and her sisters’ whenever they visited. And when Lord Anscombe became sick, those visits changed into stays, each becoming longer than the last. Now, after living at Hunswick every day for a year, the castle felt more like home to Bronwyn than Syndlear. Maybe it always had.
Edythe waited until Bronwyn took her traditional seat before speaking. “Father is dead,” she stated without preamble.
Lily curled up into a ball on the chair and started to sob. Bronwyn sat immobile. “How…how do you know?”
Edythe’s sapphire eyes darted to Bronwyn’s, her forehead puckering. “What do you mean…how? The king’s messenger told us.”
Bronwyn leaned forward in her seat. “What messenger?”
Lily sniffled and looked at Bronwyn, puzzled. “The one from the king about Father.”
“You know?” Bronwyn choked, her mind buzzing with confusion. A messenger, Edythe had said. That was how Luc had found out about her father. The herald must have traveled across Luc’s lands and had either intentionally or unintentionally disclosed the information.
Lily nodded and then buried her head back into her skirt, her bawling renewed. Bronwyn slid off her chair and went to embrace her younger sister. “It will be fine. I promise. I will make it better. You will see,” she cooed, but Lily would have none of it.
“How?” Lily demanded, brushing Bronwyn’s hands away. “Just how are you going to fix this? And you, Edythe, are you happy now? You thought I too unaware of life’s cruelty. Well, my being forced to marry will certainly end that!”
Lily’s short tirade startled Bronwyn. Much had obviously happened this afternoon to her sisters as well as her and none of it good. Before they all emotionally collapsed with grief, they had best start communicating—not shouting.
“Lily, sit up in your chair, and for the next half hour, neither you nor Edythe is to bicker with the other.” Both sisters blinked and then complied. It was rare that Bronwyn used an authoritative tone with them, but they knew better than to argue, regardless of the circumstances.
Bronwyn paced for a second in front of the fire and then stopped. “All of us are upset, but until we understand just what problems we are facing and what we are going to do, we need to remain calm, and if possible, refrain from hysterics.” She waited until Lily nodded before continuing. “Now, I need to know exactly what happened this afternoon before I returned.”
“But you know!” Lily exclaimed.
“I know about Father’s